“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I dunno. Not fucked-up, I guess—just different. Everywhere I ever worked, you knew who the boss was, for one thing. Also there was maybe like one office hookup and it was a secret and usually some big scandal, like someone was cheating on his wife, and everyone sorta knew but not really, and usually someone ended up getting fired or quitting.” Sabrina thought about this for a moment. “Although I guess it was usually the woman who left. Hm.”
“Well, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about,” Isabel said. “Last night at this party—I was there with Andrew, it was some Google party, I was pretty bored…but that woman Katya was there, from TechScene. I forgot she had been at Andrew’s party.”
Sabrina stiffened. Last night, right after Dan got home, he’d gotten a text and then told her that there was an emergency with something at work, and he had to leave again. She didn’t wake up when he finally came home, sometime during the night, and in the morning he acted like nothing had happened. She hadn’t thought too much about it, but now her Spidey sense was going off. “Did you talk to her?”
“She, like, accosted me. I was just standing there with Andrew and she asked if she could talk to me, and honestly I didn’t even remember who she was—she looked different or something. It was dark. Anyway, almost immediately she’s just like, ‘I heard that Mack’s been sexually harassing you and I’m going to write about it on TechScene whether or not you talk to me, but it would be better if you talk to me.’”
“Whoa. Wait. Say that again? She threatened you?”
“Basically.” Isabel took a sip of coffee. “Do you think you could say something to your husband? To, like, get her off my back?”
“I don’t know.” This, at least, was the truth. “Dan and I don’t really talk about work stuff.” This was also vaguely true. “Also, I mean…I’m just curious. Are you sure you don’t want her to write something? It doesn’t seem like you’re particularly happy.”
“But that should be my decision,” Isabel said. “I shouldn’t have to quit because someone is writing an article about my private life. I didn’t sign on for this. I mean, right?”
“No, you didn’t,” Sabrina said slowly, “but maybe you should think about, like, the big picture.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well…I mean, you were his subordinate. I’ve definitely, definitely seen more fucked-up situations than yours. Definitely. But…you know, that was a long time ago.” It actually wasn’t, not in Sabrina’s mind, but she knew that to Isabel, ten years ago was an eternity. She was in high school ten years ago. “Like, things that used to be normal aren’t normal anymore.”
“Like what?”
“It just used to be more blatant. And there were no consequences. Guys could kind of get away with anything.”
“Do you really think that much has changed?”
“I mean, yes and no. I think there’s less tolerance for just, like, blatant sexism. I really do. But maybe there’s still the same shit going on that there used to be, it’s just harder to recognize. I don’t know.” They were both quiet for a moment. “But, you know, even if it was just implied, the idea that you needed to stay in a relationship with him to keep your job is actually illegal.”
“Right.” Isabel pondered this. “Like, I know that. But when it’s happening to you, it’s hard to be like, ‘Okay, I am being sexually harassed, now let me figure out what I should do.’ It’s more like, ‘Ugh, this guy I used to hook up with who also happens to be my boss is being a total douchebag.’”
“I get that,” Sabrina said. “I’m not, like, advocating this, but you would be completely within your rights to sue him and TakeOff for this.”
“Oh God, I don’t want to do that,” Isabel said. “I mean, that wouldn’t be fair to him. He did some fucked-up stuff but I don’t want to, like, destroy him.”
“I don’t really want you to destroy him either. I don’t think Mack is a bad person. I mean, he’s not totally, one hundred percent a good person either, but who is? I just…” She thought about how to phrase what she was about to say. “I just think women should speak up about this kind of stuff. You know? Like what if some woman hears your story and is like, ‘Oh wow, that’s what’s been happening to me and it’s not right’?”
As she said this, she wondered: Did Isabel even know what sexual harassment was? Sabrina tried to think about what she’d thought sexual harassment was when she was twenty-six. Probably that it had to involve, like, your boss slapping your ass in front of everyone. It was such a vague, loaded term—you were supposed to know it when you saw it, but how were you really supposed to be able to tell? At some of the other places Sabrina had worked, they had been forced to sit through hours of harassment-prevention training, and she struggled to recall something—anything—from that training. But maybe it was one of those “if you have to ask…” kinds of situations. If it looks like sexual harassment, if it smells like sexual harassment, if it’s making you upset enough that you have to leave work in the middle of the day and ask your much older coworker what to do, then maybe it’s sexual harassment.
Isabel thought about this for a minute. “I guess. But why do I have to be that person? Isn’t there, like, some other woman out there who could be that person?”
You have to be that person because nothing bad has ever happened to you, Sabrina thought. You have to be that person because everything in your life has come easily, because you are beautiful and rich and this is one fucking thing you could do that would help people.